Orenda
by Lyron
Summary: They fought the wrath of the mightiest of fires, dancing upon the darkest, blackest of embers. As the mountain could no longer bow to the wind, it was only their ashes that would speak of the forsaken tales that had already long crumbled. "The purpose of all wars, is peace." (Semicanon)


**Chapter 1: Sehnsucht**

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><p><em>Sehnsucht<strong> - <strong>the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what"; a yearning for a far, familiar, non-earthly land one can identify as one's home._

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><p>Dawn had long cracked upon the skies while many lay still, sleeping and untouched. Smoke winded around the encampments that were pitched in the grassy landscape, its lingering breath flowing in and out of the reeds that were steadily growing with pollen. A loud clang could be heard in the centre of the seemingly quiet district, the beating hammer of a blacksmith long at work. There was shouting, marching and a cry for victory as numerous groups of heavily clad soldiers trailed on, causing those who were dozing to wake again once more at the sound of heavy footsteps that pounded the young soils of the earth.<p>

They gazed at the sun with such fortitude to reach the heights of a dream, grinning at the ladies who had stopped harvesting rice crops to gaze at the men with utter adoration. They stared at the overcasting mountains with such valour, saluting at the young children who cheered them on with much enthusiasm as they too, wondered when they would enter a battlefield that shaped the lives of so many. Such a time had lasted for longer than the children had ever known as battles for blood and fury erupted through the endless days and nights. Out of hope and for some, out of sheer spite.

Yet, for Senju Hashirama the morning sun had already long risen.

He squatted behind a giant pot, hidden in an uneven corner of the tent flaps and carefully constricted his breathing in order to listen to every miniscule word that was being said. Looking carefully at his surroundings, he noted that the tent was quite small with few ornaments.

_Father's always been so discreet. _

Through the odd-looking mixture of stoneware and dusty ceramics, he sniggered as he caught a Senju elder dozing, her snores and inhalations causing a nearby hanky to fly off her nose and on top again. The sudden chuckle triggered a cautious glance from a shinobi nearby, raising an eyebrow at the randomly giggling pot. He would have to be careful.

As the minutes rode on Hashirama began to yawn, pondering at why he had ever sneaked out from his mother's watchful scrutiny in the first place, against Tobirama's warning. Peering through the animal hide that covered his curious expression, he bit his lip as a fist was raised and thumped against the back of a wooden chair several times. Finally, there was silence.

"Speak."

It wasn't the first time he had ever seen his father in such an imposing manner, but Hashirama certainly knew that it wouldn't be his last. The commanding general was at least six feet tall, towering over his younger subordinate.

"I'm afraid we've lost quite a number, General."

"Oh? How many this time?"

"It's still too early to make an estimated guess. All I can conclude with the current data is that there'll be more than I'll ever be able to count."

A calculating murmur buzzed amongst the Senju elders and the sitting soldiers, for the motion of the war had been lost in regards to their previous terms. Senju Butsuma furrowed his brow as he considered the indicating defeat, folding his arms over the metal clasps of his red armour that was grasped tightly by boiled leather and bounded with thick string.

His mouth formed into a grim line. "And the land that was the overridden with the Sarutobi clansmen?"

"An utter success, sir. I've had a number of our soldiers construct the foundations needed for the farming and livestock production."

Hashirama raised his face and tensed at his tone, comprehending the reasons as to why the official would shudder at the seemingly fascinated outlook of the war lord. There was fire and blood in the smile of Senju Butsuma, but his eyes seemed devoid of any warmth.

"Excellent."

A wind broke out amid the surrounding vegetation and a boy no less than the age of eight walked in. He marched in without any doubt or hesitation, his dark eyes taking no heed of the flickering whispers that shadowed his every step, a number of Senju elders and soldiers nodding and speaking softly. Clearly they were impressed with such an entrance.

The boy stopped short in front the two commanding shinobi, bowing and lowering his eyes to the ground.

"General Butsuma-san. General Hideo-san."

The latter released a smile, "Your son, General?"

Butsuma nodded proudly and motioned for him to rise, a hand gently patting the soft mound of white hair. "My youngest, to be exact. Senju Tobirama."

Hashirama couldn't help but release a small surge of pride at the sight of his brother, a bloodied kunai hitched at his waist, a tarnished rabbit grasped in his small hands. He knelt to examine the animal and beamed as he stretched the fur of the corpse, "Only six years old and ready to enter the battlefield. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if this one ends up with more victory scars than me."

They laughed as the boy merely responded with a solemn frown and salute, his eyes firm and unwavering. A soldier sitting nearby suddenly exclaimed loudly, "And the child with the rare elemental affinity?"

Hashirama froze.

In an instant, a shuriken was sent flying and he yelped in a futile effort to leap out.

The pot that had been concealing him shattered into a dozen pieces as Hashirama he lay sprawled on the floor, groaning at the sudden pain in his abdomen. With animal hide that had been covering his face so well now lay on the floor, now tattered and torn, Butsuma massaged his forehead to ponder how he ever made it inside the tent without gaining significant notice in the first place. A number of the Senju elders muttered under their breaths.

"Insolent child."

"Nothing good will ever come outta that boy."

"What an idiot. How is he the General's son?"

"If he ever leads this clan into ruination, then may the gods help us all."

Hashirama's ego instantly deflated at the comments, cringing as he steadily rose and brushed off the lingering twigs and dirt, catching the unimpressed gaze of Butsuma. "This is my third son...Hashirama."

"I hear he had the most promising skills. The combination of Earth and Water is rare, indeed."

"He is…" Butsuma scowled as he struggled to form a coherent sentence, "a fine specimen of our clan."

It was in retrospect, an act of sheer disrespect and utter humiliation for the son of a commanding general to have been caught snooping around during a gathering. Especially when not formally invited or required to partake in any sort of manner, Tobirama noted. Seeing this, Butsuma waved a hand in a bid to motion for the tent to be cleared. He nodded curtly at the lower ranked solider.

"Leave now."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as the last entrant had left the tent, Hashirama grimaced. Steadily, he stood in front of the commander's wooden table as the commander's cold gaze soon fell upon him. An urge to stare at the mushy dirt that lay wedged between his toes soon became far more interesting. He opened and closed his mouth, unsure of when to speak.

"Father –"

"One of the most important rules for a shinobi is to be able to hide yourself. You've failed that superbly and perhaps tarnished your reputation amongst some of the elders."

"I was just –"

"What are you going to do if the enemy uncovers your presence? What are you going to do if your exposure is deemed futile? What are the Senju to do with one less of a shinobi, let alone my own son?"

The firing questions hit mid-air in silence as Hashirama raised his eyes to look at the documents that lay scattered array on the desk, squinting hard.

"Those are the profiles of the Senju soldiers."

"Obviously."

_Senju._

The name brought fear to thousands, only men who were either foolish at heart or corrupt in mind would dare to challenge and testify their throughout the land the clan had already begun to make its mark of trial and testimonial, rights upon reason and judgement through judiciary. However, it was the heated flickers of fire that stole the hearts of those who stood outside in the cold.

Within the bloodshed and mangled flesh that draped the barren landscapes of occupying war, it was only in their dying days that people had witnessed the sight of light that filled each Senju's actions and words. For it was love and love _only_ that enthused and galvanized the Senju.

Through chance and favour, it had also been love that Hashirama had been born.

Gifted with physical skills beyond the extraordinary and bestowed with a mind that could examine their surroundings with seconds, it was clear at an early age that Hashirama would one day reach new heights needed for the biodiversity of the future generations. His distinguished heritage as the clan head's son only emphasised the state, creating an even more compelling atmosphere to utilise whatever skill children would have to offer for the upcoming of war.

As his eyes scanned the uneven wooden notches of the chair, they were instantly fixated on profiles of three figures he had known all his life.

_Kawarama, Tobirama and Itama_.

The presence of his brothers had meant everything.

For it signified a drastic pivotal change concerning Hashirama's approach to life and the meaning of his own existence. In the mindsets of war and conflicting hostilities, the three had provided him with the resting pillar of solace.

Outside, shrieking and anguished cries could be heard as an explosion blasted with such force that a ceramic plate that was hung above their heads fell from the metal hinges, its rungs long rusted and peeling.

A paper fell to their feet as Hashirama stared at the name scrawled at top left hand corner, reinforcing what he had already long suspected.

"You've sent Kawarama out onto the battlefield, haven't you?" he questioned in disbelief as Tobirama became extremely still, "That's why mother was so upset."

Butsuma stood unfazed. "You have no right to prod and pry into such matters. You beg for quantity, and yet you whine about the quality."

It was the significance of his three brothers that had sparked his resolution to protect all those he loved, the fiery ignition that flowed untouched within his veins. Above it all, many would've told Hashirama not to complain. For the young boy should've been happy for he all that had and all that was yet to come. Skills and the heritage that was needed to accentuate it – he had it all.

He had everything.

And yet within his heart, it wasn't enough.

_Those who are at war are not with peace within themselves. _

"Tell me, why do we fight, Hashirama?" Butsuma asked softly, noticing his son's dismal expression, "Many will say it is for the honour of being a shinobi. Many will say it is for the dignity of being a Senju. However, we fight for this so called thing known as _peace_. "

Taking a step forward, he towered over the boy, yet muscles were tensed as the latter stood his ground. "Such a wonder, to be obtained. Such a dream to be brought into reality. Whatever the cost for the Senju, don't you agree?

A piercing scream erupted as the plate hit the ground, the Senju symbol painted on the concaved exterior shattered. This time, even Tobirama flinched.

"But really, even you adults know that such a thing known a peace cannot be purchased for even a high price." Hashirama responded bitterly, "Why can't adults admit that a bad peace with allies is far better than a good war with our enemies?"

He was on the ground in an instant. A throbbing sensation stung across his cheek as looked up in the realization that his father had knocked him to the ground in anger, ire glinting in his eyes.

_Tch. _

He cringed as he felt the cuff of his upper garments stretch, the threads of the red fabric thinning. Struggling against the tight folds of the flimsy material, his arms and legs flailed wildly as he tasted a crumbly mixture blood, dust and dirt. Butsuma yanked him hard by the collar.

"Another important rule is that a shinobi must follow their commander. You've failed two rules in day, Hashirama. More or less, that and you've intruded into an important assembly between the Senju – against my order."

He fell to the ground in a heap as Butsuma scoffed at the sight, pondering at whatever went so wrong when this particular son had been born.

"A king does not bow to his inferiors ever so quickly. Nor must you bow to yours."

He looked up and found that Hashirama was staring at the ground ever so stubbornly, anguish hidden behind his eyes. Tobirama dropped down to pull him up, a cautious eye tending to the dark markings on his now bruised cheek.

"And…what if…?"

"You're both dismissed."

"What if I don't want to be a king?"

"Oh but you will, Hashirama." Said Butsuma as he turned his back on the pair, knowing that the truth was so rare it might have been delightful to tell it, "You will want to be one that obtains the crown _first_."

Kneeling down to examine the shattered bowl, a frustrated sigh escaped Butsuma. Hashirama pleaded with him.

"About the dismissal of –"

"Now get out, Hashirama. Tobirama, check up on the territorial markings."

"But Kawarama –"

"_I said get out, Hashirama." _

~-0-~

"You should not have said that."

"I know."

"Father was extremely angry."

"I know."

"You're dishonouring the Senju with the words that utter from your mouth."

"_I know."_

They had long set off into the forest since the morning and still, Tobirama continued to berate him. The expanse of the forest was immensely huge as many areas had been deemed unexplored. Trudging along the wet leaves, Hashirama wrinkled his nose at the stench of the muddied bark that lay in a heap around them. After what seemed like ages, Tobirama squatted to the ground and placed a finger, analysing the surrounding bushes for any signs of life.

"I'll take my leave here, brother."

"Alright. I'll return in a few hours."

Tobirama merely rolled his eyes at his brother's downcast response, "Don't do anything stupid – or rash. Otherwise I'll have to drag your corpse to father."

"Heh." Hashirama's mouth formed a soft smile as he watched the younger boy walk off, never taking his gaze off him, "That's if you get to it before it finishes rotting."

He nodded solemnly and walked off.

All throughout his experiences of battle, he had never shied away from meeting his brother's eyes. A wavering gaze was an obvious sign of weakness. Yet, they were in a war and could not afford any more weaknesses other than the developing that psychological warfare that was consuming all that existed.

_Peace cannot be achieved through violence; it can only be attained through understanding._

As he mumbled to the heavens of his complaints, his hopes and what were ever to become of his dreams, he failed to notice a lingering twig and tripped. A number of splinters were lodged in his hands as he frowned at the prospect of drawing them out.

The minutes passed and soon he found himself regarding at the small punctures on his palm, of what were to become of the lives of the future children. And yet, had he even stopped to think of those beyond?

_Goddamn that hurts._

Looking back at the trail of splinters, even he knew that by imagining anything redeemable then all hope would be lost.

_Plop._

Instantly, he looked up and recoiled behind a tree in a defensive stance as he cautiously slinked forward. The sun was bright, its rays illuminating the surface of a river that lied in forest. A silhouette of an unknown individual was visible.

"Tch."

Only metres away, a boy stood at the edge of a lightly flowing river and growled at the stones that lay sunken in the water.

_Plop._

Again, the boy supressed a scowl as Hashirama began to creep forward. This time he picked up a pebble as well.

_Plop._

As he looked closer, a gasp escaped him as he realized that boy couldn't have older than him; but a younger age was out of the question. A thick mane of black hair draped over the dark blue fabric that garmented his figure. For a moment – just for a moment, Hashirama wondered if he could get away with playfully tugging the stranger's hair.

_Plop._

Creeping closer amidst the earth, the frustrated expression on the stranger held him back. The boy's lips were set in a firm line, his dark eyes enveloping the other side of the river. Hashirama watched as the boy picked up another pebble and muttered a foul curse at god knows what. There was a dangerous fire in his eyes, an ardent desire to reach a dream, a yearning for something with such fervour that for many would've been incomprehensible. A covet for perfection glinted harshly in his tone.

"Next time I'll definitely get to the other side."

Somewhere along the east lines of the coast, Hashirama knew that sea waves were thrashing wildly across the rocks, eager to lap up the remains of soft sand and what was left of any bloodied carcass that spent its dying days on the coast.

_Plop._

Above it all were the mountains that gazed over the skyline, various clans taking heed of the fresh news that the famous Senju and Uchiha clans had succeeded in obtaining another golden – inheriting the lands and natural resources that would enrich a nation.

As the tide changed its course, the river in front of him rippled and tree leaves swayed in harmony to Mother Nature. The winds that flew through the rocky terrain of the lands echoed and tore at the mountains, but even Hashirama knew that no matter how hard the winds would howl – the mountain could not bow to it.

_Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory._

Readjusting the small stone in his hand and stepping closer so that he was just metres away from the river and the stranger, he flexed his arms and threw it into the air.

_If I ever want to be a king, I want to rule myself._

Instead of falling into the water, it landed on the other side.

~-0-~

It would have been quite accurate for one to assume that there was an inevitable wave of strong competition in the air. The unknown boy spun around with such speed that Hashirama couldn't help but widen his eyes as his hair whipped around, his dark eyes furious.

Clearly, the stranger wasn't a normal non-combatant. The boy with the long hair narrowed his eyes; his feet positioned in a defensive in a bid to either fight or take flight. Hashirama winked as a wistful smile fell on his lips and he offered a grin and drank in the sight, "You should aim a little higher when you throw. I suppose that's how you get the knack of it."

The boy stared at him deadpanned, clearly unimpressed at his advice. "I know that." The stranger snorted, turning away brusquely, "If I really want it, it will get there!" He stared at the stone in his palm for a few seconds, stopping to inspect the arrival of the newcomer. A dark eyebrow quirked up in sudden interest, "Anyway, who are you?"

"Hmm…"

A smirk lit up the Hashirama's face as he considered the question. These were times of strife and secrecy, with much needed prudence. As much as he would've preferred to be honest, he would have to twist the truth a little.

"Currently, we could say I'm your rival in playing skipping stones." Noting that he seemed friendly enough, he knew that there was a monster in every man if the wrong step was taken and assumption over estimation was in hand. A brazen desire to gaze at his pebble that lay on the other side of the river compelled him to do so.

"The only catch here is," he grinned proudly, "Mine got to the other side, first."

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